“Meatbreath. He has many names. Dissatisfied with the thought that he might be ordinary, il ponderoso changes his names daily. He does so in order to confuse us. Yet he tricks no one because every name he chooses is more grandiose than the last.”
“What’s the Creep up to now?”
“He is obsessed with migrants. He claims to be shielding us from the hordes who are spilling over from the south, but all he is doing is transfixing us in a tiresome and enervating melodrama. Politics is raccoons too close together.”
“Or too far apart. What of the Clan Fathers? Can’t they restrain him?”
“They are scared witless of him. He threatens to assume the headship of their families, including their wives.”
“This is monstrous! He is trying to live above the Customs. He will singlehandedly erase the boundaries of family hunting grounds.” Slypaws hesitated. “Forgive me, but may I ask you a personal question?”
“You may ask.”
“Has Meatbreath violated your person?”
A pause. I heard the wind whistling in the chimney top.
“He has violated many. Wrath and venery prowl together and are his companions. He longs to replicate himself in countless children whom he calls his High Guard, watching over them with satisfaction just as the Raccoon Ancestor watches over those whom he has created in his image. But to answer your question (which I do not find the least importunate), no, he has not molested me. I escaped him by a whisker. He tracked me to where I was hiding in a tree by the lake – it is where the Primates bring their cubs to play – and I jumped into the lake and swam for my life. I’ve been swimming upriver since, in small stretches so as not to leave a trail.”
This information gave me my first knowledge of the geopolitics of the clan families. The lake is Little Lake, a widening of the river made by a dam at its southern end. The tree is in Beavermead Park along its eastern shoreline where there is a creek. With barbecue leftovers from the campsites, and organic vegetables from the ecology park, and clams in its public beach, this is prime raccoon territory. Or was, before Meatbreath took it over.
“You may stay here for a time, if you like. I am in need of company. But whither are you bound, if I may ask?”
“That is gracious of you. I would like to stay and rest. Then, I think I will try my luck in the City.”
The City. She didn’t mean the Greater Metropolitan Area to the south. She meant the central part of my city across the river, with its stores and restaurants and old neighbourhoods. Of course, it would be densely populated by raccoons, but their lifestyle would be quite different from that of Creek Town.
“The Raccoon with a Hundred Names won’t extend his dominion there. It’s too complicated. And besides, it’s on the far side of the River. Apparently, the Jerk doesn’t like to swim. He says it messes up his hair.”
“The times are perilous enough without having to watch one’s back for a rogue alpha male with a headful of politics. But you speak of him intimately. May I dare to ask if …”
“Yes, it is true. He has had three cubs by me, out-of-season and against my wishes. But I love them. Clutch, Bandit, and Touchwit. I love them all the more because in order to grow up and be themselves they are going to have to use the strengths they have inherited from their father without being devoured by his weaknesses. It is going to be a risky coming of age for each of them.”
“It will be breathtaking watching them succeed.”
“We shall have to learn to live differently, but we’re good at that! We’re Raccoons! We can adapt to any condition. Since we are to be fellow survivors, may I ask your name? I am Slypaws of the River Clan Family at the Islands.”
It is apparently a point of courtesy among raccoons to exchanges names last. The exchange puts a seal on the introduction, which is done through telling stories. The stories convey the personality and circumstances of the stranger. Names are just a label.
“I am Twitchwhisker. Erstwhile of the River Clan Family at Creek Town, now a widow with no hierarchy or kin.”
“Then you shall live with me for a spell and I shall be your kin. Let us go down and scrounge up a repast for you to eat.”
Giggles. Then the scratching of claws on the brickwork of the chimney.
I heard no more of Slypaws and her new friend for the rest of the Spring. I guess they hunted together until the refugee was strong enough to swim across to the city. They probably spent much of their time hunting on the Islands that Slypaws takes her clan-family name from. These islands are just off my back lawn, muffling the noise of the Quaker Oats factory, but not the scent on certain days of oats, honey, and raisins. The islands – there are two close by, separated by a narrow channel, and a small one west of them halfway across the river – were formed in the nineteenth century by wood chips from the lumber mills, which gathered on natural shoals, then were held in place by the roots of trees. Later on, decorative plants took root from cuttings thrown into the river by gardeners. Now that the Spring flooding has receded, the channel separating the two near islands is an underwater sushi bar for raccoons. The nearby river willows and tamaracks provide safety from roving males.
Before the clan mothers descended, I managed to get out onto the street and take a photograph of them, head to tail, licking each other’s fur and talking. This was the first time Slypaws made eye contact with me. At the instant she took her own mental photograph, I realized that I had left the stethoscope on my desk. I had understood her speech directly, without it.
ACT II
To Seek a Fortune
Clutch, travelling east
An impertinent Mouse
Sleekfoot and Lightfinger, brother and sister refugees from Creek Town
A mighty Drooler
A wise Fox
Bandit, travelling north
His Aunt Pawsense of the Marsh Pond
Goodpaws, her bossy senior daughter
Sensibella, the second sister, a romantic beauty
Friskywits, a clever younger sister
Nimbletoes, junior sister and family messenger
Smartwhisker, their father, an urban gentleman
Lord Padmind, a suitor for Sensibel
